


love's cold and lonely offices

by howevernot



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Baby!Finn, Character Study, Family, Family Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Polly Gray, Pre-Canon, based the the idea that Tommy raised his younger siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howevernot/pseuds/howevernot
Summary: They're all different after the war. Tommy seems like John at first, hardly changed. He smiles less sure, smokes more, he’s more reserved, but aren’t they all. He doesn’t wander the neighborhood in a daze like Danny does or drink himself under the table regularly like John. But there’s a certain tension in him -- his head bent low, his shoulders tense. He makes a good show of it but she knows something’s off. He was never precocious or rowdy the way some of the other Shelby boys were but now he’s uncommonly quiet. She sees him sometimes, sitting in the Garrison, or in the parlor, drink in hand, face blank. She doesn’t know what to make of it.
Relationships: Polly Gray & Tommy Shelby
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	love's cold and lonely offices

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this has been sitting in my drafts for ages so I decided to polish it up and publish it. It has not been beta'd and I apologize for all mistakes. This fic makes mention of child abuses and also feeding babies things like alcohol and opium to make them go to sleep, which were still popular practices at the turn of the century when this is set. If those kinds of things upset you, I would steer clear of this.
> 
> This fic is mostly self-indulgent musings about Tommy and Polly's relationship, but it was also super interesting to write.
> 
> Disclaimer, I know nothing about children. I asked my dear friend V for help where I could and did my best. I apologize if anything seems unrealistic.
> 
> The title is a bastardization of a line in Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays."

They're all different after the war. Even Polly and Ada, far from the brutality of the front as they were. It would be easier if they all changed in the same ways. At least then Polly might know how to handle them. Instead, it’s a surprise each time one of them show how altered they are. Arthur’s come unleashed. Whatever strings were keeping his temper in check before the war have come unraveled. He’s never been particularly calm, but now he’s a fucking hurricane. And John, he still smiles easily enough and laughs in the pub as loud as the rest, but there’s a kind of casual cruelty in him now that she’s never known before. But other than there’s hardly anything different in him that she can see. He’s not the only one. Many men came back seemingly unchanged, except for an increased penchant for smoke and drink. Some men were followed with whispers of a terrible social disease and little else. 

Tommy seems like John at first, hardly changed. He smiles less sure, smokes more, he’s more reserved, but aren’t they all. He doesn’t wander the neighborhood in a daze like Danny does or drink himself under the table regularly like John. But there’s a certain tension in him -- his head bent low, his shoulders tense. He makes a good show of it but she knows something’s off. He was never precocious or rowdy the way some of the other Shelby boys were but now he’s uncommonly quiet. She sees him sometimes, sitting in the Garrison, or in the parlor, drink in hand, face blank. She doesn’t know what to make of it.

Polly remembers him in the days after their mother died, when she came to care for them. He’d tried so hard not to show anyone he was hurting, but he was never particularly good at it. Some nights she could find him with Finn, trying his best to feed the fussy child, his eyes red rimmed. Or how after a particularly vicious fight with Arthur he’d leave the house for hours, coming back sloppy drunk and sad. One of her worst memories is of the last time their father visited and they Tommy and Arthur and her brother fought so viciously she’d had to get between them. Tommy had been heaving with rage for weeks after. 

In those days Arthur took care of running scams with Tommy in tow at times. John and Ada mostly ran wild in the muck. And those two could be vicious to each other, with only two years difference in age. Tommy had long ago become the caretaker for his younger siblings. Long before she had come apart at the seams after Finn’s birth, she’d been too distant or drunk to really look after any of them. Their father was never around and Arthur was too busy running scams and bringing home money to look after little Ada or John. She had expected him to go out with John running scams after she came to live with them, but he was around the house more often than not, caring for the kids, helping Polly, running the betting house.

She came home once after leaving Arthur in charge, to find Tommy curled up on his seat at the dinner table, hugging his knees, his bare feet on the seat. Seeing him like that, looking so small, and he still looked small sometimes in those days, she’d been reminded of when he was much younger, still cowering in fear of his father. The house was dark and quiet, even baby Finn wasn’t crying. The baby had been inconsolable since their mother died and all the singing, rocking, and cuddling that Ada, Tommy, and she could offer did not calm him. More often than not the child cried himself into sleep. That or else they gave him a little whiskey or a spoonful of a soother. 

Polly hadn’t expected everyone to be in bed by the time she got home; they weren’t orderly children like that. But more than the unnatural silence, Polly was concerned for Tommy. He was already a man really, eighteen years old with that whipcord strength that all young men have. But something about the pose made him seem vulnerable and that’s not an easy thing to be in this family she knows. She wondered if he’s crying, but he was just sitting there, staring at the stained tabletop.

She considered comforting him, gathering him up in her arms, boney shoulders and elbows be damned. But that’s not her place. For all that she’d become temporary mother to the youngest Shelbys she refused to be mother to the two grown Shelby boys. Instead, she took off her coat and fixed herself a drink. Tommy’s eyes were on her the whole time, though he didn’t make a sound. After a few sips, she pulled a chair near him and sat, looking intently at his face. He tried hard to keep his expression straight and blank but his tense shoulders gave him away. She studied his face as he struggled not to crack under her scrutiny. He’s burned through his baby fat, but some soft and supple signs of youth remain in his face.

“Alright then Tommy,” she said, as his lip began to quiver. She reached out to touch his arm, rubbing her thumb against his sleeve. He stayed still for a long while, just looking at her. Physical comfort wasn’t common in their home, not the way it was in hers. She’d always loved fussing over her children, holding them and cuddling them. Equally, protecting them bodily from her now dead husband. Tommy’s mother wasn’t anything like her. She had been drunk and not altogether there at the end, so much so that Tommy and Ada had taken over the caring of little Finn completely. Their mother had been so sick she hadn’t even managed to come to the baptism, causing all kinds of talk and rumors around Small Heath. But even before then it wasn’t a cuddly house. Their father smacked them around plenty and their mother had always been loving but cool and more than a little absent. Arthur should have cared for Tommy and John and Ada in their mother’s absence, but he was too concerned with running scams so they could all eat. He rarely had to wonder how to cook the food his money bought. Arthur had also long been emulating their father, finding somewhere else to live as soon as he could afford to, staying mostly out of the day to day running of the family. Tommy had been holding his family together with both hands since he’d been old enough to cook, change diapers, and order the young ones around.

She’d been pleasantly surprised when Tommy actually shuffled over and leaned into her. She slipped an arm around his shoulder and held him for a long time, wishing for all the world that she could take this burden from him, whatever it is that had him so quietly distraught. He took a shuddering breath and she’s waiting to feel tears against her neck.

She rubbed his back and murmured to him in comforting tones. He only let himself be held for a few moments more before he pulled away and furiously wiped his eyes. She didn’t ask him what was wrong, she didn’t really suppose she’d get an answer anyway. That much hasn’t changed. He would never tell her when he was hurt or hungry. Usually, John or Ada came crying to her saying that Tommy skipped dinner again, or on rare occasions Arthur would admit that Tommy had taken a few hits to his ribs in a fight. He never complained though. Just quietly hid away his pain.

“Let’s get to bed, huh?” she said, rubbing his shoulder gently and ushering Tommy with her. She’s not so much older than him she had to remind herself. When they were both small, the six years difference in their age seemed enormous. She remembers him at six years old crawling under the pews and trying to knock off her hat in the middle mass, or later at all of eight, carrying John around, helping his mom bathe him. She remembers the times he wanted to play with her, and how little she wanted to be around her snot nosed nephew when she could go out dancing or playing with friends her own age. But as they’d grown up the age difference had mattered less and less. It was hard to remember in that moment, when he looked so upset. 

Still she ushered him off to her room. He hesitated in the hall a moment but ended up coming with her. There aren’t enough beds in the house. Most nights Tommy and Polly sleep in different rooms and the children mix and match where they want to sleep. More often than not she had Finn in the crib with her, and Ada in her bed. John usually slept with Tommy. Tommy rarely made an appearance in her room.

Ada is already in her bed asleep with Finn beside her.

Polly sighed at the sight, knowing she’d have to put Finn in the crib and risk waking him again. Tommy went about getting ready for bed without comment, and stripping down to his undershirt. Polly took Finn and settled him in the crib, mentally preparing herself to wake again soon to tend to him. Her own children were already sleeping through the night at this age, but Finn had been a menace since his mother died. Tommy claimed he just wants to be held, but Polly wished he could just accept his mother wasn’t coming back already. She resented it, having to come here and care for these children when her own were taken from her. She was furious sometimes, looking at Finn or Ada or John, that they are not her own children, that they could dare need her when her own children are somewhere out there needing her more. 

And she resents Tommy too. That he has become her equal in caring for this family that is not her own. Their parents should be here, her husband should be here. Tommy should have been out with Arthur, not with her raising children who weren’t his. It was not right that she and Tommy have become mother and father to the fucking Shelby family.

Sometimes she lost control on them, snapping, yelling, slapping. She’d hit Tommy and John for giving her lip more times than she cares to think of. Even Ada had gotten a proper hiding from her once when she’d spilled their entire dinner out on the floor while bringing it to the table. She had promised she would never lay a hand on her own children, but these were not her children.

None of that resentment was present when she turned around to find Ada murmuring sleepily to Tommy. He’d clearly woken her with his rustling. Polly couldn’t hear the words, but that was just as well. Ada usually spoke nonsense right after waking. Polly felt terribly tender as Ada cuddled up to Tommy’s and he hugged her loosely. 

She never found out what had upset him so badly that night. But late in night she woke to find him sitting on the edge of the bed holding Finn, singing to him quietly and rocking back and forth. He reminded her of herself. She was only a year older than he was when she’d had Michael. She watched his narrow frame in the low light as he rocks the baby and remembered how exhausted and overwhelmed she was that first year with Michael, how she just wanted him to stop crying, to just sleep through the night, or the terrifying time he caught a fever and she’d been beside herself for days watching him shudder and cough in her arms. She wanted to comfort him, tell him it would get easier, it was easier once Michael and Anna were a little older, but she didn’t. She didn’t know if it would be a lie so she held her tongue.

She can still remember when he joined them back in the bed after putting Finn back down to sleep, the way fondness rushed through her when the bed dipped as he climbed back in. He’s rarely tender these days. He’s impenetrable, not rude or angry or drunk, just untouchable. She knows there are soft moments, when he ruffles Finn’s hair or sits in the Garrison with John and Arthur, softened with drink and laughter. But the soft, thoughtful, scared man she saw that night never reappears. She’s not sure even he knows what he is anymore. Aimless maybe.

He was aimless before the war too, but only in the way everyone in Small Heath is aimless, stuck in poverty and filth with no chances. She never understood why their parents settled in this fucking town, in this fucking house. If the Shelby family is going to be aimless at least they could do so on a canal boat or a caravan. But then again, she can’t fully explain to herself either, why she stays, just that she has to care for them, for Finn who’s still growing up, for Arthur, who, for all that he’s only three years younger than her, needs someone to look out for him. And now that the business is hers, more so than it was ever Arthur’s, she has no interest in leaving that investment behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos give me life!
> 
> [You can come yell at me on tumblr here.](https://howevernot.tumblr.com/)


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